


Faded

by often_adamanta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-17
Updated: 2006-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Originally posted at livejournal <a href="http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/153923.html">here</a>.</p></blockquote>





	Faded

  
VOLDEMORT IS DEAD.

It was the only object of interest in the whole room, a banner that covered the wall across from his bed and painted in black with an unsteady hand. It held three words and all of his attention.

Most everything else was a dingy white. He assumed it was a hospital of some kind, although it didn’t smell like it. His pajamas were pale blue, same as the thin blanket folded on the end of the bed. Everything was so faded here that sometimes he received a shock from the glint of green staring at him from the mirror.

It was also shocking how pale and old he appeared, with scars he didn’t recognize, but he couldn’t worry about that for long.

  
A nurse came in and brought him some food on a tray, and he pulled his eyes away.

“Is it true?” he asked, pointing to the sign.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, it is,” she replied without looking up.

“Why am I here?”

Her eyes tracked the progress of his fork. “You’re still recovering. Please eat all the peas; you need to keep your strength up.”

Harry made a face.

She gave him a small smile.

His eyes latched onto the banner again as he ate. When he was finished, a small noise made him jump, but it was just someone there to clear away the tray. He set down the fork and let her take it.

“Please,” he said, stopping her at the door. “Is it true?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, it is,” she replied without turning around, and then left.

  
“Hi.”

Harry turned and found a smiling redhead at the door. “Hi,” he greeted quietly.

“I’m Ron,” the man introduced himself. “Care for a game of checkers? I know it must get boring in here.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. It was true, after all; the little room was quite bare of anything even remotely entertaining. His eyes glanced caught on the banner as he sat again.

“It’s true, mate,” Ron said, lining up the pieces, red toward Harry, then elaborated at Harry’s confused expression, “He’s really dead.”

Hearing it said gave Harry a small amount of breathing room, so he smiled at the redhead and made the first move.

  
“Harry.”

He looked away from the banner to see two people standing in the door.

“You have a visitor today,” the nurse replied.

A blonde man stepped away from the door and offered Harry his hand. “Hello. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Harry shook his hand and gave him a small smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The nurse shut the door behind her as Draco studied him.

Harry’s eyes slipped to the banner. “Is it true?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes widened as he read the message, but then he seemed amused. “Most definitely,” he replied.

Harry nodded.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

Harry stared at him blankly.

Draco smiled.

  
“You okay?”

Harry jerked his eyes away from the words and looked around, observing the redhead and the checkerboard with confusion.

“Do I know you?” Harry asked, wondering if he should be alarmed by the stranger’s presence. He didn’t feel alarmed.

“I’m Ron,” the man told him, “And we were just playing checkers. Do you remember, or should we start another game?”

He didn’t remember, not really, but he studied the board for a minute and made a move. “Sorry,” Harry apologized when Ron moved to take his turn. “I can’t seem to remember anything anymore.”

“Not a problem, mate,” but there was a pinched, haunted look to the man’s face.

  
“Is it true?” he asked.

The nurse nodded, seemingly preoccupied with making notes on a clipboard.

“Is it time for lunch?” Harry tried to guess.

“No, Mr. Potter, you’ve already had lunch today.”

“Oh. I guess I forgot.”

“No problem,” she said gently, giving him a sad smile.

  
It had to have been a long time since he’d done this last because his body was incredibly tight. Fuck, did it feel good, though, and Harry worked his hips, trying for more depth, more sensation. He could remember, vaguely, this feeling and rhythm and act, more instinct than anything else. It made him think of flying, but he didn’t know why.

There was so much he didn’t know.

When it was over, thin fingers sent an aftershock through his system by caressing a nipple, but Harry didn’t recognize the pale face partially covered in curtain of blonde hair. He felt suddenly, inexplicably nauseated. He barely made it to the toilet before vomiting.

He didn’t recognize the well dressed man when he returned from the bathroom, but this was a hospital, so maybe he worked here.

“I was just sick. I thought maybe I should tell someone. It might have been something I ate, but I don’t remember.”

The man nodded and spoke to him for a few minutes, a cold expression of satisfaction on his face, but Harry didn’t know why.

He couldn’t worry about it for long.

  
A petite woman was chattering away at him, and Harry was grateful that she didn’t seem to expect him to respond. He had no idea what she was talking about.

Her curly hair kept his attention for a while, bobbing along as it did with her monologue, but eventually his eyes wandered over to the opposite wall.

“Harry.”

His eyes snapped back to her.

“He’s incredibly dead. As dead as it gets.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed meekly, unable to hold any doubt in the face of such conviction.

“I brought you a gift.” She smiled brightly. Harry regretted that he’d already forgotten her name. “I know you don’t like to read books anymore, but I thought short stories might be right up your alley. They’re all shorter than ten pages, so you don’t have to worry about forgetting them in the middle. I used to read them when I was a little girl.”

Bears and ducks and other animals decorated the cover. His eyes were drawn to the lion. “Thanks,” he said.

  
His body was tingling and felt wonderfully wrung out and used. He ran his fingers through blonde hair, smiling at the faint noise that earned him. He didn’t remember doing it, but the results of their sex was all over his body.

“Do we do this a lot?”

“Fairly often. Does that bother you?”

He responded with a faint negative sound.

His eyes caught on the large words written on the wall. “Is it true?” Harry asked.

“Very,” the blonde replied, and when Harry turned to him again, there was something like worry in his eyes.

  
“That’s a nice story,” Ron said, smiling.

Harry closed the book. “It is, even if there is no such thing as magic.” The smile slipped of Ron’s face. “I wish there was, though.”

“Why?” Ron whispered.

“Because then it could fix me,” Harry explained wistfully, fingers stroking over the illustration.

Ron choked, but Harry had his eyes fixed the banner on the opposite wall.

  
He woke up to a smell soaked into the sheets that reminded him of his dreams. He’d been flying, seeking and being sought and laughing. He smiled into his pillow until both the dream and the smell attempted to become memories and were lost.

  
“Is it true?” he asked.

The redhead nodded distractedly. “Harry, I wanted to tell you, Hermione just had the baby, a baby girl. Her name’s Hope.” He said it with such joy that Harry smiled. “That’s why she hasn’t been around much. We’re taking a ton of pictures to show you, and they’ll come visit when she’s old enough.”

“I’d love to see her,” Harry replied hesitantly, watching to see if he’d made the right response.

“You will, mate,” he promised, with far more determination than Harry thought necessary.

  
“Shit, no, stop!” Harry exclaimed, trying to push the man away. The man he’d never seen before in his life. The man intent on sticking his tongue down Harry’s throat for whatever reason.

“No, shh, it’s okay, we‘re together like this. You’ve probably just forgotten.” He’d stopped trying to kiss Harry, but was now looking at him in a very intense and disturbing way. But it made sense. Harry forgot a lot these days. “Don’t you trust me?” the man asked in a whisper, leaning in so that their foreheads and noses brushed together.

Harry took a deep breath. The man smelt so good and felt even better pressed up against him, hips and erections aligned. “Alright.”

“Good,” the man approved, and this time when he was kissed, Harry kissed back, reaching up haltingly to tangle his fingers in shoulder length blonde hair.

  
“Hey, Harry, where’d you get the plant?” Ron pointed to the small table behind Harry at his confused look.

Harry turned, and perked up at the splash of green. “I don’t know. But it’s nice to have the color. It’s kinda depressing in here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” the redhead responded vaguely, but seemed suspicious for some reason.

Harry shrugged, turned back to the checkerboard and tried to remember what strategy he’d been using.

  
There was a commotion out in the hall, which surprised Harry. This looked to be a hospital, which were generally quiet places.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked the nurse.

She frowned. “I don’t know.” She walked over to the door and quickly left, obviously wanting to find out as well. The open door let in the sound of two men yelling, but they were muffled again when it closed.

Harry couldn’t worry about it for long. His eyes drifted to the banner on the wall.

  
“I’m so sorry, Harry. I had no idea he was even coming here.” The redhead appeared close to tears.

Harry’s arms were curled up around his legs, making himself a small target and also letting the sheets rest near his face where his chin sat on his knees.

He breathed deep and ignored what the man was saying until eventually he grew quiet. He could smell something, faintly, something wonderful. It made him feel calm, despite the constant tension of being around strangers in a strange place. It made him think of flying in a way that almost felt like remembering, but wasn’t quite.

He stared at the sentence that was painted larger than life on his wall.

The words tasted unfamiliar on his tongue as he said, tentatively, “It’s true.” It wasn’t a question.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at livejournal [here](http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/153923.html).


End file.
